Angel Face, page 19
“He wants me to kill a witness.”
“Jesus Christ on his bloody cross,” Corky said. “That lot don’t muck about, do they? Having a copper take out a contract takes some bloody nerve!”
“It’s not exactly unprecedented,” Carlyle said.
“Caracappa and Eppolito,” Erin said, nodding. She was thinking of the notorious “Mafia Cops,” a pair of detectives who had committed at least eight murders on behalf of the Mob in the ‘80s and ‘90s. They’d finally been brought to justice a few years ago and been thrown in federal prison for life.
“We knew this was bound to happen sooner or later,” Carlyle said. “Have you told your superiors yet?”
“I’ve got a meeting with my handler in less than an hour. Christ, what am I going to tell him?” Erin grabbed a bottle at random from the collection on the table. She sank onto the vacant cushion on the couch, upended the bottle, and took a generous gulp.
It was the apricot liqueur. She made a face, but managed not to spit it across the room. She swallowed and put the bottle back on the table.
“You’ll tell him it’s over,” Carlyle said. “Unless you can stall Vitelli and run out the clock on him.”
“He gave me forty-eight hours,” she said bleakly. “Maggie’s not done copying down the ledger yet, and even if she was, there’s no way we could close it out in two days. And if we start hauling in O’Malleys, Maggie probably won’t ever write it all down. That’s it. We’re toast.”
“Don’t go talking like that,” Corky said. “Not until we’ve considered all the options.”
“Options?” she echoed. “What options?”
He shrugged. “This contract doesn’t come from the Oil Man. It’s straight from Vitelli.”
“So?”
“If Vitelli isn’t around anymore, it’s rather a moot point, wouldn’t you say?”
Erin stared at him. “Corky, we’re not killing Valentino Vitelli.”
“Very well,” he said, unfazed. “Arrest him, then.”
“And blow my cover?”
“Not for the hit contract,” he said. “For sending his bully-boys after the Marshals.”
“We can’t prove that was him,” she said. “And even if I wasn’t personally involved, he’d still know I was behind it.”
“You could botch the murder,” he suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“Talk to the Marshals ahead of time, fire a few shots over the lass’s head,” Corky said. “Apologize to Vitelli, tell him you tried, but the security was just too tight.”
“Won’t answer, lad,” Carlyle said. “Anything obvious enough to convince the Italians would force the Marshals to arrest Erin. Though I like the way you’re thinking there. Perhaps something along those lines might serve.”
“This sort of thinking requires more liquor,” Corky said. “Whiskey this time, love?”
“That might be a good idea,” Erin said.
“Perception,” Carlyle said softly. “The important thing is what the Italians see, regardless of the truth.”
“Go on,” Erin said. She’d stood up and was pacing back and forth across the living room.
“I think you should kill Miss Tommasino,” Carlyle said. “Just like Vitelli told you to.”
Nobody laughed. Nobody had a snappy comeback. The three people stared at each other.
“Or,” Carlyle amended, “that’s what they need to see.”
“Yes,” Erin said. Then, louder, “Yes! That’s it! But I’ll need some help. Especially from you, Carlyle.”
“What is it you’re wanting me to do?”
“What you used to do best.”
“That being?”
“I want you to build me a car bomb.”
Phil Stachowski looked Erin over. His mild gaze traveled to Carlyle, at Erin’s right, and Corky, at her left. The only sound was the water of the memorial, trickling quietly and endlessly into the gaping hole that marked the worst terrorist attack in American history. The four of them stood in a rough diamond shape next to the 9/11 memorial. The sun had gone down almost an hour earlier. The park was nearly deserted.
“It’s risky, all of us meeting like this,” Phil said mildly. He knew the two Irishmen had been flipped, and he’d met with all of them separately, but this was the first time all of them had been in the same place at the same time.
“Ian drove us here,” Carlyle said. “The lad’s got quite the eye. He’s certain we’re clean.”
“Where is he now?” Phil asked.
“He’d call it perimeter duty,” Carlyle said.
“If all three of you are here, something’s happened,” Phil said. “What’s the situation?”
“Valentino Vitelli offered me fifty thousand to kill a woman,” Erin said. “No, that’s not quite it. He ordered me to kill a witness and he’s giving me two days and fifty grand to do it. I can’t say no without jeopardizing the operation.”
“So we’re done,” Phil said.
“Not quite,” Carlyle said.
“What do you mean?”
“The woman’s a witness to a murder committed by Vitelli’s son,” Erin explained. “Gabriel Vitelli met a girl through his Mob buddies. Pretty, fun-loving, interested in him. He fell for her—hard. But his dad raised him to take girls and dating seriously, so he didn’t just have a fling with her. He bought her a ring and proposed.”
“Erin,” Phil said. “This is very interesting, but—”
“She said yes,” Erin went on. “There was just one little problem. She was already pregnant, and Gabriel hadn’t slept with her. She had him over a couple mornings ago. I think she tried to seduce him, with the idea of playing off the kid as his. It wouldn’t be the first time a girl tried that trick. Unfortunately for her, Gabriel had straight-laced, old-fashioned ideas about marriage and sex. He didn’t go for it. Then, in the course of their conversation, he found out about the pregnancy. In a fit of rage at her betrayal, he grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen and killed her. He left a label over the bed so everyone would know just what she was. Then he ripped the engagement ring off her finger and left.”
Erin shook her head. “The victim’s downstairs neighbor was just getting home with the groceries. Sheer bad timing. They saw one another, him all covered with blood and still carrying the knife. Literally red-handed. She got inside and locked her door. After she was sure he’d gone, she placed an anonymous call to the NYPD. Gabriel, meanwhile, ditched the ring outside, where Rolf found it. Either he realized having it would incriminate him, or he just couldn’t stand having it with him. Then he took off. He got rid of the knife and the bloody clothes; mobsters are good at that sort of thing. And the only true proof we have of him at the scene is our witness.”
“Why didn’t he kill her?” Phil asked. “It would’ve been a lot less trouble to do it then and there.”
“Gabriel thinks of himself as a gentleman,” Erin said. “He’d never kill an innocent bystander, especially a woman.”
“But he wants her dead now,” Phil observed.
“No, his dad wants her dead,” Erin corrected. “I doubt Gabriel knows anything about that. And the witness is in WitSec as we speak, protected by Marshals. The Marshals are extra twitchy because of that botched hit on another protectee the other day.”
“So they want someone on the inside to do the job,” Phil said. “In other words, you.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve done a great job convincing me it’s time to bring you in and shut things down,” Phil said. “You can’t keep playing this game. If it’s too dangerous to refuse, you’ve got no choice.”
“Of course I do. Relax, Phil,” she said, cracking a weary smile. “I’m not going to kill Teresa. Except that I am.”
“Perception’s far more important than reality,” Carlyle said. “What matters is that Vitelli thinks she’s done as he wishes.”
“You want to fake her death,” Phil said. “And make it look like you killed her.”
“It’ll be tricky,” she said. “And we’ll need to bring a few more people in on the secret, which is risky, but they’re good people. I need you to set up a meeting now. Tonight.”
“With whom?” Phil asked.
“Captain Holliday, Sarah Levine the medical examiner, you, the three of us, and Skip Taylor from the Bomb Squad.”
“The Bomb Squad?”
“Yeah,” Erin said. “I’ve got a plan, but it’ll need every one of us.”
“I can get everybody in the same room,” Phil said. “But I can’t promise they’ll go along with whatever you’re planning. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I.”
Chapter 20
“Nice place,” Erin said. “So this is where you bring your girlfriends?”
Corky grinned. “If I’m wanting to impress them, aye. Are you impressed?”
“I like your other apartment better,” she said. “It looks like someone actually lives there. This looks like a damn movie set.”
After some discussion, Phil had agreed to Corky’s suggestion that they meet at his spare apartment in Tribeca. Erin had heard about Corky’s love nest, but this was the first time she’d seen it. She couldn’t deny it was fancy, well-located, and expensively furnished, but it did feel artificial. The living room had an actual bar, an impressive sound system, and the largest projection screen she’d seen outside a commercial movie theater. Even Carlyle, with his expensive suit, didn’t quite look like he belonged. Phil was hopelessly out of place. The Lieutenant was looking around, hands in the pockets of his threadbare coat, taking the whole thing in. Ian stood impassively by the door, watching and waiting. Rolf was sticking close to Erin.
“The others should be here any minute,” Phil said. “Holliday is bringing Dr. Levine. Taylor is coming separately.”
“They need to make sure they’re not being followed,” Erin said tensely.
“Your Captain will be careful, darling,” Carlyle said. “And I can’t think why anyone would be following Mr. Taylor. Most lads don’t want to be in the same place as a bomb technician.”
He had a point, Erin realized. Skip was a former Army EOD man who’d joined the NYPD because it was the only place he could use the unique skill set he’d picked up in the military. He was completely unconnected to organized crime. Nobody had any reason to tail him. In fact, the Lucarellis probably had no idea who he was.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s just nerves.”
“Reading these other folks into the case is chancy,” Phil said. “I know they won’t deliberately let anything slip, but everyone who knows is another chance for something to come out.”
“I know!” Erin snapped. “But we need them. I’ll explain once we’re all here.”
“Would anyone care for a drink?” Corky offered. “I’ve a grand selection of beverages.”
Nobody replied.
“I’ll just get one for myself, then,” Corky said and poured himself a double whiskey.
“Incoming, sir,” Ian said. He wasn’t looking into the hallway. He was relying on his ears. Erin cocked an ear, but didn’t hear anything. But thanks to his warning, she was unsurprised when there was a knock at the door. Ian sidestepped, gave a quick look through the peephole, and opened the door.
Captain Holliday stepped in, Sarah Levine behind him. The Captain was wearing a black topcoat. It was unbuttoned and his right hand hovered near his belt buckle, but he seemed calm enough. He gave a once-over to the assembled people, nodding politely to Erin. Levine, clad in a long black coat of her own, appeared completely disinterested in the proceedings. She wasn’t even looking at the others.
“Welcome,” Corky said cheerfully. “Let me take that, love.”
Levine, a confused expression on her face, allowed him to take her coat and hang it in the closet. Underneath, she was wearing hospital scrubs.
“You’d be the famous Sarah Levine, I presume,” Corky went on. “I’d heard one could find right lovely flowers amidst death and decay, but I’d no notion how right they were.”
“That’s true,” Levine said. “Decomposition produces excellent fertilizer.” Her hair was tied back in a plain ponytail and she was wearing no makeup. She did not look particularly floral.
Erin exchanged glances with Carlyle and smothered a smile. It was going to be interesting watching the contest between Corky’s relentless flirtation and Levine’s near-total lack of social awareness.
“I just got a call from Officer Taylor,” Holliday said, selecting a hanger for his own jacket and revealing that he was wearing a pistol, an old Colt Detective Special. “He’s right behind us.”
Sure enough, Ian opened the door again before Holliday and Levine had gotten more than a few steps into the apartment. Skip Taylor’s hand was raised to knock. He and Ian stared at one another.
“How’s it going?” Skip asked. “You’d be… Thompson, right?”
“Affirmative,” Ian said. “Taylor?”
“Ten-four,” Skip said. “Where’d you serve?”
“Sandbox and the ‘Stan,” Ian said. “Marines. Scout Sniper. You?”
“Two tours in the sand,” Skip said. “Army. EOD.”
Ian nodded. Then he did something Erin had never seen him do. He extended his hand, unprompted. Skip gave it a brief shake.
“Looks like we’re all here,” Holliday said, once Skip had divested himself of his tattered leather jacket and joined them in the living room. “I suppose we should get down to business. This is an unusual meeting, Detective. You called it, and I’ve gone to some trouble to rearrange my schedule to accommodate you. Would you care to clue us in?”
Erin took a deep breath. She wished she’d taken Corky up on his offer. A stiff drink might have steadied her.
“As some of you already know,” she began, “for the past several months, I’ve been infiltrating the O’Malley criminal organization, pretending to be a dirty cop.”
“This is top-secret information that does not leave this room,” Holliday said, quietly but forcefully.
“I’ve been assisted in this by Mr. Carlyle and Mr. Corcoran,” Erin went on, indicating the two Irishmen. Corky raised his whiskey glass and winked. “Both of them are cooperating fully with the NYPD.”
“And I thought I had a dangerous job,” Skip muttered.
“As a result of several things that have happened, I’ve created the impression in some circles that I’m an assassin for hire,” Erin said. “Unfortunately, that means I’ve been given a contract I can’t turn down.”
“Why am I here?” Levine asked abruptly. “Where’s the dead guy?”
“Nobody’s dead,” Erin said.
“Not yet, at any rate,” Corky added. “But if you’re needing a body to examine…”
“I’ve asked you here because I need your help,” Erin said. “I’ve been ordered to kill a witness by the name of Teresa Tommasino.”
Holliday’s jaw clenched. “Detective,” he said. “You know what that means.”
She held up a hand. “Please, sir, hear me out. Carlyle’s told me, time after time, that what actually happens isn’t nearly as important as what people think happens. Of course I’m not going to kill her. I need all of you to help me make it look like she’s dead. We’re going to fake an assassination.”
“What sort of assassination?” Holliday asked.
“Ms. Tommasino is in Witness Protection,” Erin said. “She’s under twenty-four-hour guard by US Marshals. We can’t clue them in on it, either.”
“Why not?” Holliday asked.
“Because the Feds are infiltrated,” she said. “So is the NYPD. I know of one FBI agent who’s compromised for sure, and there’s probably others.”
Holliday said nothing, but his eyes went very cold and hard.
“We have to be able to fool not just the Mafia, but the NYPD and the Feds, too,” Erin said. “And it can’t be obvious to the government that I’m behind it.”
“Otherwise they’d have to arrest you,” Corky said. “And you’d likely keel over and die from the sheer irony of it.”
“We’ll tell the Marshals they’ve been made,” Erin said. “They’ll believe it. They’ve had one safehouse attacked already. We’ll say we need to move our witness. I’ll escort her to a vehicle. We’ll load her in. A few seconds later, that vehicle will be destroyed by an explosive device, apparently killing her. My cover will be preserved, Ms. Tommasino will be safe, and we’ll have a senior member of the Lucarellis dead to rights on conspiracy to commit murder, once he pays me for the hit.”
She finished and looked around the room. Everybody was staring at her. Even Levine was paying attention now. Corky was grinning. Carlyle was thoughtful. Skip’s mouth hung open. Holliday’s face was as unreadable as a block of granite.
Twenty seconds passed. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
“I get it,” Skip said at last. “At least, I get why I’m here. You need me to build you a fake bomb.”
“Nay, lad,” Carlyle said. “I’ll build the bomb. It’s rather in my line, I’m sure you’d agree.”
“You’re the guy who’ll be investigating the bombing,” Erin explained to Skip. “You’ll need to say the right things in your report.”
Skip snapped his fingers. “Gotcha.”
“And we need Levine because of the issue of remains,” Erin said. “Obviously, we’re not actually killing anybody. But we need enough evidence to convince people there was a body in the car. I was thinking maybe she has some tissue samples we could sprinkle around the area.”
“You want me to falsify a coroner’s report,” Levine said. “You want me to lie in an official report.”
“Well, yeah,” Erin said. “That’s why you need to know ahead of time.”
“No,” Levine said flatly.
“Come now, love,” Corky said. “Your honesty’s admirable, to be sure, but this is for a grand cause. Surely you can make an exception.”
“Science doesn’t lie,” Levine said. “I can’t say something happened at a crime scene if it didn’t happen.”
